


The Arena

by ShannonXL



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deathly Hallows AU, M/M, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannonXL/pseuds/ShannonXL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captives of the Dark Lord, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are bitter cellmates forced to duel one another for the amusement of the Death Eaters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Arena

_Incendio!_

 

Draco shuddered, his teeth chattering unbecomingly. His robes were fine, too fine for the chill; the biting air whipped right through the meagre threads. He kept waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light, but all he could see were the shadows of shapes. He had no idea how long he had been there, alone. He found himself reaching for his wand once again, before he remembered that it wasn't there. It felt like he was missing a limb. He longed to hold it again, almost as much as he prayed he never would.

By now he knew that having his wand wouldn't mean freedom, or safety, or even comfort and warmth. The days he got his wand back were worse than the endless days spent in the dark, alone. 

Up ahead, he heard footsteps, and he tried to calm the anxious rumbling in his chest, a feeling similar to the sensation of a snake slithering between his ribs. He closed his eyes, taking comfort in the darkness, praying that the footsteps would pass him, that he would be left alone. Still, he held his head up high, gritting his teeth. He wouldn't be called a coward. A failure, yes. A traitor, maybe. But he had accepted long ago that he was going to die, and the rest of his life would be spent in an agony of waiting. If this was the last day, he would not go to it afraid. He had promised himself that much.

And Draco Malfoy had broken too many promises already. 

The footsteps were accompanied by a quiet scuffling. They echoed in a cacophonous pitter-patter along the walls before the sound stopped outside Draco's cell. Draco took a deep breath before opening his eyes. 

 

_Everte Statum!_

 

Harry blinked, stumbling over his injured leg. The light was dim, but he recognized that flash of pale blond hair, the erect posture built on dignity and pride. 

"Malfoy?"

He'd opened his eyes a second before Harry spoke, but Harry was sure Draco was just as surpassed as he was. Maybe more. 

"Potter?" He sneered, and Harry was oddly comforted by the routine unpleasantness. It felt for a moment like they were back in Hogwarts, instead of a dungeon below Azkaban. 

Harry blinked as he felt his manacles being removed behind him. He was unceremoniously pushed further into Draco's cell before the door locked behind him with a definitive clatter. Harry spun, grimacing at the pain in his over-worked muscles. He grabbed the bars, hollering at the faceless guard who had led him there.

"Wait! Stop! There's got to be some mistake!"

Behind him, he could hear Malfoy chuckling.

"You're as dense as ever Potter."

Harry turned, moving more gingerly this time. Malfoy's signature smirk was plastered on his face, but aside from that, the boy didn't look well. His clothes were too thin for the chill, and underneath them it was clear he hadn't been eating well. His cheeks were gaunt, and his hair was disheveled. It was hard to tell in the dark, but his fingers were smeared with dirt. _Or blood_ , Harry thought, scowling as he refused to look at his own hands. 

"You think they left you and me here for a reason? They must know we're likely to wring each other's necks if we're left alone down here."

Malfoy nodded.

"Apparently they think the cold and the dark and the general air of misery weren't unpleasant enough and decided to torture me with your presence as well."

Harry glared.

"Give me one reason not to kill you!"

Malfoy held his hands out, still smirking infuriatingly.

"Because, like me, you've had your wand taken from you. Or maybe because you're the great Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, and no matter what you say, you're too righteous weak to kill anyone."

Harry slammed his palms against the wall, ignoring the pain. He wanted to scream. But he was so tired of screaming. He wanted to cry. But there was no way in hell he'd let Malfoy see him crying. The sound he ended up making was similar to a growl, before he leaned his forehead against the cool stone, breathing heavily. 

"Had enough, Potter?"

Harry spun, forgetting his injury. His leg dutifully reminded him, almost giving out when Harry tried to balance his weight on it. His insults died on his tongue, and he sighed, leaning against the wall, he let himself fall into a crouch. 

"Don't talk to me Malfoy."

Malfoy snickered.

"That's all?"

Harry shrugged.

"If you're right, and they brought me down here so we'd make each other miserable, we might as well do the opposite. If we're civil to each other, at least he doesn't win."

And with that, Harry closed his eyes, determined to try to sleep, even though he knew he'd only get a few hours at best. Just before he slipped into unconsciousness, he heard Malfoy whispering:

"Still won't follow the rules, will you Potter?"

 

_Lacarnum Inflamarae!_

 

When they were called into the arena together three days later, Draco wished it had surprised him. It wasn't that he was expecting of have to fight Potter. He had neither the energy nor the will to try and predict what awful thing lay in his future. He had simply learned to anticipate the worst, and he found he was never disappointed, or shocked by the degree of misery. 

Potter glanced at him as they each were handed their wands. At first Draco thought he was going to apologize, but Potter merely tensed, staring ahead resolutely.

"If they're entertained, neither of us has to die."

And with that, the stone walls were magically cast aside that the blinding lights struck him as hard as they always did. He'd learned already not to look at anyone directly, but he entered the lights proudly, clinging to the decorum that he wore as comfortably as a cloak. His chin in the air, he scanned their 'audience', satisfied his parents weren't present. That made things easier. 

He glowered when he finally looked across the arena at Potter. The idiot was looking directly at the Dark Lord, practically begging to be killed right there. 

Draco dared one fleeting look at the raised balcony. The Dark Lord was displeased, insulted by Potter's defiance. And yet, the other Death Eaters didn't seem alarmed. They were unamused, but it seemed they were familiar with this type of standoff. Which meant Potter's defiance was habitual. 

So why _wasn't_ he dead yet?

All that he remembered about the Chosen One and the barely remembered prophecy left Draco's head as they were told to begin. Potter wasn't going to hold back, that much was clear. 

 

_Levicorpus!_

 

"You know, I'm a little surprised to find you down here."

Malfoy didn't budge.

"For a while, I thought you might be here to spy on me. Trick me into thinking you're a prisoner too and keep me from trying to escape. I thought, the joke's on you-know-who, I've got bollocks going on about getting out."

Malfoy didn't say anything, but Harry could see the whites of his eyes, and he knew the other boy was watching him. He coughed, choking on the taste of blood trickling down his throat. He was healing slowly, as he always did. The potions he was given with meals were always effective, if agonizingly sluggish. 

"But then it seemed like you might really die out there."

Draco sneered, but didn't speak. Harry coughed.

"Anyway. I guess that's not it. It seemed like I was the only one trying to keep you alive."

"I suppose that's why you humiliated me then?!"

Harry cringed at Malfoy's tone, but at least he was talking.

"You're alive, aren't you?" _But I'm sorry_ , he didn't add.

"No thanks to you, I'm sure."

Harry didn't argue, he didn't have it in him.

"But then I got to thinking."

"Pull a muscle, did you Potter?"

Harry snickered, much to Malfoy's apparent discomfort.

"Did I say something funny?"

"No." Harry sobered. "I guess it's sad, actually. I kind of miss fighting with you like we did. It feels easy, in comparison."

Malfoy shrugged, conceding.

"So, you don't think I'm a spy?"

Harry smirked.

"I think if you had a choice, you'd have been long gone by now. No Malfoy would put up with living in squalor like this for long."

"And what do you know about Malfoys, Potter?" Malfoy sneered. "You don't know the first thing about me."

Harry closed his eyes. 

"I guess you're right." When he opened his eyes again, Malfoy was still fuming, but he hadn't moved. Harry wondered if it was because of fatigue, or pain, or both. 

"But I do know that, for whatever reason, we're in this together."

"Don't!" Malfoy snarled. "Don't drag me down with you! I am _nothing_ like you!"

Harry closed his eyes again; Malfoy's voice echoed too loudly in the tiny cell. 

"That's for certain," he muttered, smiling. 

 

_Incarcerous!_

 

For the first hour, Draco appreciated the solitude. After Potter's arrival, he hadn't been alone, and even after the initial embarrassments had been overcome, Draco found he missed the quiet. He'd grown used to hearing only the sound of his own breathing, overpowering the more distant sounds of cries and spells and stone doors. Once or twice, he'd been certain he could hear his own blood as it flowed through his veins. 

Potter's presence has been a discomfort, one he'd suffered because he had no choice. At first, he was glad that he was gone. 

After the second hour, Draco was worried.

Was Potter still fighting? Was he dead? Was he being tortured for information? Surely he didn't know anything useful anymore, he'd been locked up for months. Had the Dark Lord found a way to get rid of him? Was the war over? Had the Death Eaters won?

Or had Potter been rescued? Rescued, only to leave Draco in that prison to rot. Draco wouldn't begrudge it, knowing he would do the same thing to Potter if he got the chance. He would run and never look back. Go into hiding and try to forget about the other boy, locked in a cell somewhere dark and cold, waiting to die. But no, Potter was the Golden Boy, the do-gooder, he wouldn't leave Draco behind, no matter how much he hated him.

Right? 

When three hours had passed, Draco began to pace. It wasn't a conscious decision, and he was favoring his left side, where the burns still tingled and tugged at him uncomfortably as they healed, but he was consumed by a nervous energy he couldn't release any other way. Battles in the arena were brief. That was what made them bearable. You finished and maybe you lived and then you were sent back down to the dark. They never lasted long, that was what he depended on when he was dragged up. He used to try to stop them, he used to kick and bite and scream, and he learned not to. Better to get it over with. To walk with dignity. Because at least the battles were over quickly, one way or another. Three hours. Three. 

What torment could be so prolonged?

Draco had lost his sense of time when Potter was finally dragged in (it had been exactly seven hours and sixteen minutes). He waited until the masked guard left before he looked at him.

Potter was breathing, but he was pale, and so cold he'd stopped shivering entirely. Draco checked his pulse, as he remembered hearing one should do, and he felt Potter's heartbeat fluttering pitifully against his neck. 

"Potter?" He whispered, although he'd learned long ago that no one could hear him even if he screamed. 

Potter's eyelashes quivered, and the boy groaned, but he didn't move. 

"Potter. You've got to get off the floor. You'll freeze."

Potter didn't respond. His breathing was haggard, and as Draco's eyes adjusted he saw dark stains all over his clothes. Draco touched one tentatively, and his fingers came back wet, smelling of copper. Blood. 

"Potter, Harry, what's happened to you? What did they do to you?"

Potter choked, but he tried to move his arms, opening his eyes delicately. Potter shook his head, as if trying to clear his vision. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Malfoy?"

"Stop trying to move." Draco rolled up his sleeves. "I can't do much, but I can at least make the pain go away."

He held his hands, palms open, above what looked like the worst of Potter's injuries. Doing wandless magic was draining, but he wasn't prepared to watch the Boy Who Lived die in his cell. He whispered a few words, concentrating, trying to focus his magic. It was difficult without a wand to draw on, but he felt something. 

" _Vulnera Sanentur,_ " he whispered, closing his eyes against the strain. Beneath him, Potter was groaning, but Draco could feel the wounds closing up, slowly, yes, and he was sure it must sting fiercely, but they were closing. 

"Malfoy."

Draco opened his eyes. Potter was breathing shallowly, but his eyes were open and focused, staring up at him. 

"You called me by my name."

Draco scowled.

"Would you prefer I call you an idiot?"

Potter raised an eyebrow.

"You called me by my _first_ name. I can't remember the last time you did that."

Draco rolled his sleeves back down and scoffed, leaning up against the wall.

"I'm certain I did not."

He could feel Potter watching him, but he refused to give in to the impulse to look back. It would be undignified. Instead, he changed the subject.

"Where have you been all day?"

He heard Potter struggling to sit up, but he didn't move to help him. He'd done enough to help already. And in truth, he was feeling lightheaded after the heavy-duty spell casting, but he didn't want the other boy to notice. 

"Why, Malfoy, did you miss me?"

Draco glared.

"No. I'd just like to know if it'll be my turn next."

Potter sighed.

"No. That fun's reserved for me."

Draco chewed on the inside of his cheek, not sure where he should say anything else. He didn't want to be mistaken for someone who _cared_ , after all.

"Was it bad?"

Potter shrugged.

"You've met your aunt?"

Draco shuddered.

"That bad?"

Potter nodded.

"Yeah." He rubbed his arms, trying to warm up. "They think if they kill me, they'll kill _him_. So they're trying to destroy whatever connects us to one another."

Draco blinked.

"Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"Will he die if you do?"

Harry snorted.

"One way to find out, isn't there?"

Draco scowled.

"It would certainly make him easier to beat."

Potter glanced at him.

"Is that what you want?"

Draco closed his eyes, considering. What did he want? He'd forgotten, it seemed. He wanted to go home, but he knew the home outside wouldn't be the same one he'd left. He wanted to be safe, but no one by the name of Draco Malfoy was safe anywhere, not anymore. He wanted to be warm again, he wanted to be somewhere with light; not lights so bright they blinded him, just real, vivid sunlight again. And maybe a part of him wanted not to exist anymore. And that thought was what kept him from thinking about who he wanted to win the war, who he wanted to live and who he wanted to die. It didn't matter to him anymore. None of it was real when all he wanted was to disappear. 

"I don't care anymore Potter."

Harry sighed, and seemed to settle in. Draco observed him for a moment, before adding: "I thought you still did, though."

Potter opened his eyes again, squinting in the dark.

"Why did you save me, just now?"

Draco didn't speak.

"And before, in the arena. I saw you, you had an opening, but you didn't take it. You were angry with me. But you didn't strike me down."

"If he hadn't killed you yet there wasn't a chance in hell he'd let me have the honors!"

Potter didn't match his tone.

"You could have hurt me. You could have ruined my wand arm. You could have blinded me, or used an unforgivable. And just now, you didn't have to heal me. Why did you?"

Draco glared.

"I hate you, Potter."

Potter returned the glare.

"Likewise. So why are you helping me?"

Draco grit his teeth.

"Maybe I hate _him_ more."

They went back to not talking after that. 

 

_Reducto!_

 

Harry was used to the nightmares. He's used to dreaming of Lucius' face as he falls, stricken, skin pale and bloodless. He wasn't used to opening his eyes to see that same face, only younger, more wan, staring at him. 

He was used to feeling guilty. He was used to telling himself that it was an accident, that he didn't mean to do it, that he never wanted to kill anyone, that he only wanted to _live_ , that living was all he ever wanted. He was used to telling himself this lie. And he was used to reminding himself, later, after he's calmed down, that he wanted to kill Lucius, that he _did_ it, and that he meant to do it. And even under the shame and agony, there is a part of him that is proud he did it. There is a part of him that wants to do it again. There is a part of him that will be glad.

He wasn't used to Malfoy looking at him like he's worried. He wasn't used to calling Malfoy by his first name, even if was only in his head. 

He wasn't sure how to tell him, until suddenly, he was.

"I'm sorry."

Draco glowered.

"For what, Potter?"

"I'm sorry I killed your dad."

Draco paled, like Harry knew he would, like Harry had seen him do every time they were called up, sometimes together, more often separately. He raised his chin and he didn't blink or shrink away, but his lips were tight as he answered.

"What. Did. You. Do."

Harry's breaths came in quivering gasps.

"I killed him. I came into the arena one day and he was standing there. And he looked so tall."

Draco stood, fuming.

"What did you do Potter?!"

Harry closed his eyes.

"I tried to run. But he caught me and there was no place to go. And Voldemort was laughing at me, telling me how amusing it was that I was scared. That I was a child. And all I remember is the pain. The pain and the laughter. And all I could see was how much he hated me. So I got up. And I killed him. Not with magic. With my hands."

Draco gaped at him. His expression was a mixture of repulsion and pity, and Harry hated it. 

Finally, Draco spoke.

"I hate you, Harry Potter."

His head drooped.

"I hate me too, Draco."

 

_Sectumsempra!_

 

Draco didn't remember when he started thinking of him as Tom in his head. It was some time in between when he first got the mark, and when he first started wishing he'd never heard of Lord Voldemort. 

Tom sat across from him, sneering over the table. Draco didn't touch the food, didn't trust it, had learned that when you bite the hand that feeds you, you're bitten back, only harder, fiercer, and without mercy. He'd learned not to eat, and knew better than to trust.

He nodded when he was asked if he's learned his lesson. He nodded when he was asked if he wished to return to his Lord's good graces. He nodded when he was asked to watch Harry Potter. He nodded when he was told to learn how to destroy him. He nodded when he was asked if the old scars hurt again, and he nodded when Snape offered to make him a salve for the injury, criss-crossing over his abdomen like the impression of a metal fence or a cage. 

He knew they wouldn't be asking if they didn't think they could use him. He knew this lesson won't come to an end. 

He knew because he's a Slytherin, and he doesn't trust anyone. 

 

_Stupefy!_

 

Harry fought. He fought because he didn't have a choice, because he still thought he might be able to escape, that someone might be looking for him, that someone among the Death Eaters might still be loyal to Dumbledore. He fought because Ron and Hermione couldn't find the Horcruxes without him, because he didn't want to die, even though sometimes he thought he might. 

And sometimes, he fought because Draco was the one standing across from him in the arena, and if he didn't keep throwing curses at him Voldemort would stand up and kill him. _You have to give us a show, Harry Potter_ , he remembered that vile whisper in his ear, as the Imperius curse forced him to bow over the body of Lucius Malfoy. That was a good show. 

Draco was across from him and all he could remember was their duel in second year, and how much easier it was to fight an opponent you were sure you couldn't kill. 

Draco was across from him and all he could think about was the way it felt to crush Lucius' windpipe with his hands. 

Draco was across from him and all he could feel was regret, because the boy in the cell was not the same boy he cursed last year in the bathroom, and yet the boy in the cell was the one he had to fight. 

Give them a good show, or watch your opponent die. And Harry didn't want Draco to die. 

 

_Immobulus!_

 

"I'm here because I tried to leave."

He wouldn't let Potter wrap the bandage. He'd rather keep the mark to himself. It was nothing to show off, a permanent symbol of his own stupidity. Draco uncoiled the bandage and tightened it over his wrist, cursing such a simplistic Muggle invention. 

Potter watched the movement, not looking at his face.

"You tried to leave?"

Draco smirked sarcastically.

"Turns out you sign up for life with this lot."

Potter smiled, less sarcastically. 

"It's the same here, really. One scar on your head and suddenly you have a lifetime appointment as the savior of all wizardkind."

Draco snorted unattractively.

"Not finding it to your liking, Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "So far I'm finding the position to be a bit of a let-down. All I've done is get myself captured by a bunch of pureblood fanatics."

Draco chuckled, despite himself.

"And here I thought you were enjoying the attention."

Potter shrugs.

"Here I thought you wanted to be a Death Eater."

Draco glanced at him, but there's nothing accusatory in it. And Potter isn't wrong, Draco did want to be a Death Eater, once. Before he understood that eating death meant creating it all around you. Before he realized that wanting to kill someone didn't make you a killer, no matter how much you wanted it and how much you were supposed to want it. Before, before. 

Before Albus Dumbledore had offered him an escape, and he felt for the first time that he _wanted_ it, more than anything.

"What I wanted didn't exist."

A perfect world, without impure blood, without danger, without flawed magic and political nightmares. It didn't exist. In the same way his home no longer existed, his family no longer existed, his life as he knew it no longer existed, and would not for very much longer…

"Draco."

Draco shook his head.

"Don't call me that. I'm not crying."

Harry touched his arm, when had he become Harry? Draco closed his eyes, covering the darkness with more of the same, but Harry didn't leave, and he didn't let go. He made soft, warm noises instead, comforting sounds, the way a parent might speak to a baby, and Draco should have been offended, but he didn't care anymore. He was too tired and too sore to care. 

"Draco, it's all right. I know how to beat him, I do. I'll get out and I'll take you with me, you just wait. You won't have to spend your life here, I promise you."

Draco accepted the lies with dignity, knowing kindness was not what he deserved, and Harry did not deserve to give it to him. 

 

_Fumos!_

 

Harry cast the spell, praying that Snape hadn't lied to him. If he had, this was over. Voldemort would know that Harry was the final Horcrux, that killing him wouldn't matter as long as the other Horcruxes were intact. 

He felt the Galleon in his pocket warm, and he knew the message before he looked at it.

 _We're here_. 

 

_Protego!_

 

Caught in the smoke, Draco squinted. He was used to the dark, and he felt a familiar presence at his side, and a lurch as the portkey tugged them far away. He cast one last spell, protecting the place where they had been standing, and he felt a dagger being thrown against his protective barrier, glad it wouldn't be following them wherever they went. 

He stumbled, then collapsed as they landed. Harry was with him on the ground, and he didn't remember who had fallen first. When he opened his eyes, he found himself on the other end of a pair of wands.

"Granger." He mumbled, his voice weak. "Weasley. What a pleasure."

"Let go of Harry. Now!"

Draco felt Harry regaining consciousness next to him. When he opened his yes, taking in the scene, he laughed, curling over and clutching his side. Draco watched him, worried, he reached for him, but Weasley's wand stopped him. 

"He's wounded! He shouldn't be taxing the injury!"

"Since when do you care, Malfoy. Incarcerous!"

Draco found himself bound rather tightly. He didn't bother to struggle, he was too weak. But he glared as Weasley, waiting for Harry to regain his composure.

"Any time now, Potter."

Harry finally sat up, though he was obviously a bit woozy.

"We made it. We made it out. Both of us. Alive!" He was grinning fiercely. "We're alive! Snape didn't betray us! He got us out alive!"

Granger and Weasley exchanged glances.

"Do you think someone's hit him with some sort of curse?"

Granger shrugged.

"Not one I've ever heard of."

Harry waved his arms, still smiling.

"I'm fine! I'm alive and I'm all right! It's not a curse, it's a bloody miracle!"

"I'd like to be untied now." Draco grumbled. "It seems the Golden Boy has a lot to tell you. And he could probably use a healing potion."

 

_Reparifors._

 

After some argument, they had retired to Grimmauld Place, where Ron and Hermione had been hiding while they tried to figure out where Harry was being kept. It's wasn't a warm place, but the fire made the living room temperate, and the flames cast plenty of light. Harry sat next to Draco, who allowed him to do most of the talking. When Ron and Hermione went to bed, the two of them stayed awake, not moving. 

"I don't hate you for killing him, Harry." Draco's voice was a whisper.

Harry leaned into him.

"I'm still sorry."

"I'm not." He felt Draco stiffen beside him. "He left me there. He let them take me. He called me an embarrassment. His Dark Lord was more precious to him than me."

Harry glanced at Draco, but his face was unreadable.

"What happens now?"

Draco looked at him, without fear.

"I don't know, Golden Boy. Why don't you tell me?"

After that, they didn't talk, because they knew how to do that. 

 

 _Lumos_.

 

Draco wasn't sure how he'd been talked into going with them on what seemed to be a never-ending camping trip. But after so long underground, anything felt better than standing still. And if it wasn't bright, at least there was light. If it wasn't safe, at least the danger was a known quantity, and much farther away than it had been. And if it wasn't home, that was fine, because he'd learned a long time ago that the home he believed in didn't exist anymore. 

He'd learned to trust Harry Potter. The boy who promised to get him out alive, who promised not to leave him behind. The boy who wanted him to live. 

The boy he was going to make sure came out of this war alive. 

 

 _Expelliarmus_.


End file.
